I cannot remember the first time I heard the willow branches sing a song,
Playing havoc with the steady gait of my life.
Or the first time I noticed the soft, golden grass tickle the insides of my toes,
My laughter spreading triumphantly,
Sadness the air that carried my joy now echoing through the canyon.
Those things have always seemed to be,
Even as the memories reborn
When you held my face between your hands,
Pierced my soul with the truth
That I had found you.
Finally.
Two hundred years ago, or maybe more,
We had chased each other around the lonely willow tree,
The one that hugged the places where we'd play,
Besides the field of wildflowers.
One purple flower would give itself to me,
I'd take her sacrifice and slide her by your ear,
Your smile melting any winter left in my heart.
You'd tell me something wonderful,
About the dream that we were having,
That would be a dream again in a couple hundred years or more,
The dream you shared, my love, my never-to-be-forsaken.
My face in your hands back then, you made me swear.
"Remember this in two hundreds years, or maybe more?"
"When we meet then, you will remember. I will hold your face between my hands, and I will shred that veil you've placed before your eyes. Naked and shaken you will forget but only to be reminded. When you remember, we will never part again.
We will fall, and fall, and then fall some more. The burning memory of my fingers on your face, your name searing through my heart, will have us rise, and rise, and then rise some more.
Marry me by a willow tree, whatever that means to us then. Do not stop until I do. In this life I chased you, in the next you will do the same. Yet know it like the wind to the wings of a butterfly. The chase is not a game to us, it is like the whittling from a great tree the statue of our hearts. When the winds calm, the butterfly will find its rest, and the masterpiece will be complete."
That's the way it is, for you and me my love,
I don't remember when it started for I was but stardust then,
We made a promise long before there were flowers or fields,
Or willow trees to guard them,
A promise we honor under the bluest mountain skies,
In an inn left-handed to its undertaking,
A promise we are so very close to keeping.
For I know a place.
A place made within the infinite measure of the Universe,
Just for us,
Where the breeze still flows through willow's holy branches,
Where flowers bloom begging to touch your ear,
Where your heart will be reminded of the oath you made me swear,
And you will smile, scared and shaken though you be,
As you remember it was you who made me promise.
It is me who will always keep my word.
